The Burgers Brothers' Family Funeral Home

By Clayton B Tune

The Burgers Brothers' Family Funeral Home is dying and Donnie Burgers wants out. When Donnie expresses his desire to sell the company, he expects the passionate resistance he receives from his younger brother, Frank. What he didn't expect from his brother was the dirt covered, bulky trash bag now hiding o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clayton Tune
• Release date: May 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781734098709

Clayton B Tune

Clayton Tune lives outside Washington DC with his wife, Gina, and their two kids. He is an avid sports fan, staying loyal to the hometown teams and the Tennessee Titans. He also collects 90s memorabilia. The Burgers Brothers' Family Funeral Home is his first novel.

Book preview

I think the family is the place where the most ridiculous and least respectable things in the world go on.

—Ugo Betti

There is a little boy inside the man who is my brother . . .

Oh, how I hated that little boy.

And how I love him too.

—Anna Quindlen

***

Murray, Kentucky

Summer 2017

***

FRIDAY

1

Skeleton in the closet

Donnie Burgers stared at the black trash bag of human remains on his closet floor.

He lifted his leg and tapped the bottom with his toe. Something shifted inside causing the bag to stretch open and reveal a skull resting on top, staring back at him. What is that? He turned back toward the door of his room and yelled for his brother, Frank.

Yeah?

Can you come up here? He heard his younger brother begin to walk up the steps, then watched as Frank entered the room holding a bowl of cereal. Donnie stood away from the closet to gauge his reaction. You notice anything?

No. Frank took in a mouthful of cereal and chewed as he scanned the room. Oh, you got new sheets. Nice. He paused and sniffed the air. Did you fart in here?

Frank, look in my closet.

Frank’s gaze shifted down, and he released an audible mmm while nodding. He swallowed his cereal. My bad. I forgot to tell you that was in here. That’s Sarah Piddleton.

Sarah Piddleton, Donnie thought. The name rang a bell.

She died a while back; fell out of the hot air balloon, Frank said. Sorry, I’m sure that totally caught you off guard.

Not at all. Perfectly normal for there to be an entire skeleton stuffed into a trash bag on my closet floor. The sarcasm was lost on his brother. Damnit, Frank, why the hell is there a corpse in my room?

Keep your voice down. Frank closed the door behind him. The bag was bulkier than I thought, and your closet had hardly anything in it. She wouldn’t fit anywhere else. Cliff and I dug her up last night and figured this would be a safe place to hide her. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.

Donnie now noted the two pair of slacks unfolded and laying across the top of the bag as if to hide it.

You dug up a bo— Donnie stopped. He rubbed his forehead with his palms before forcefully dragging them down his face. I can’t believe I actually have to ask this question, but why did you dig up Sarah Piddleton?

First off, we didn’t mean to dig her up. The thing is—and don’t get mad—when you came back, you told me that if we didn’t start making more money, we may have to sell. Donnie groaned, leaning back against the wall. Look, I understand. We’re not making much, and with the economy how it is, people can’t afford elaborate funerals anymore. Donnie began scooting down the wall as Frank continued: I got it all figured out. You know how sometimes people get buried with these expensive items? Well, I found a couple of people who will pay to have those items dug back up. And, they pay well. So, I was thinking, we do a few of these odd jobs, use that money to update the home, and actually have a chance to compete! He took another bite of cereal. The thing with Sarah is that I met this guy who wanted a necklace and he was willing to pay ab—

Shhhhh, Donnie cut him off. Just, be quiet a second. Donnie sat with his eyes closed and took in a deep breath. If you were looking for a necklace, why the hell is that in my bedroom?

That’s a funny story. We intended to get the necklace but . . . Frank sat down next to his brother and looked back at the corpse. To make a long story short, some stuff went down, and I had to bag her up so we could look for the necklace in a better spot. And, Frank let out a cough as he said the next part, we dug up the wrong person.

You dug up the wrong person, Donnie repeated.

It’s a minor hiccup.

A minor hiccup? Frank, are you crazy?

Hey, don’t worry, we’ll get it straightened out. Frank slapped his brother’s knee and then used it to push himself up. Get dressed and come downstairs. I’ll show you what Cliff and I are putting together. Oh, and get this, he brought his voice down to a whisper, Apparently, there’s this whole online market for body parts—like off a corpse. I’ve got some guy right now offering us money for some limbs. That’s insane, right? He spooned more puffs into his mouth. Some people are crazy.

Donnie was speechless. He sat by his closet for several minutes after Frank left. Selling body parts? he whispered. For a moment he thought the incident was a dream. He closed his eyes, telling himself that the bag wouldn’t be there when he opened them.

He was wrong. It was still there: a trash bag full of human remains, sitting underneath khaki dress pants on his closet floor.

2

Donnie left the bag in his closet and walked downstairs, still partially in a daze. He figured that calling the police would be the responsible decision, but there would be no way to make sense of Frank’s logic, and he would be implicated by default.

Donnie walked into the kitchen. Cliff Samson was there over the stove, cooking eggs and sausage. He raised up a spatula and slapped him on the butt as he walked by. Cliff was a former intern at the funeral home while getting his degree in kinesiology and physical fitness from Murray State until his graduation in 2014. He then convinced the brothers to let him open a small gym out of their detached garage, which he now owned and operated.

You want some breakfast? Cliff asked.

Yeah that’d be great, thanks. Donnie filled a mug with coffee and sat across from Frank hoping his brother would elaborate on the corpse. Frank, instead, poured himself another bowl of cereal and continued reading the Sports section. Donnie gave his brother a frustrated stare for several seconds before finally saying his name.

Yeah?

Are you really going to act like there’s not a prob—

Good morning, everybody, Dave Burgers said as he walked into the room. Donnie and Frank greeted their dad in unison. Cliff offered a fist to bump.

Morning Mr. B. You want some breakfast?

No thanks, I gotta meeting out in Mayfield in thirty minutes and I’m running late. Can one of you boys do me a favor?

What’s up? Frank looked up from the paper.

Your mom has an appointment this morning with the specialist and I forgot all about it. Can one of you run her up there? Or let her use your car?

To Paducah? Donnie asked.

No, they’re meeting her at the doctor’s office here in town.

I’ve got an appointment soon, but she can use my truck, Frank said.

You know your mother is not going to drive that truck, Dave said. Donnie, you mind if she takes your car?

I’ll take her up there. I don’t have anything going on.

I owe you one, Dave said, pulling a mug from the cabinet.

Hey, question. I need your consulting advice, Frank said to his father.

You realize I make other funeral homes pay to have me on retainer, right?

But we’re your kids. And, we’re letting you have an office in our funeral home.

Oh, you mean my and your mother’s bedroom? Yes, that’s most kind. Thank you. Dave patted Frank and Donnie’s shoulders as he walked toward the door.

I have a girl coming this morning whose dad died. Her mom died a few years back and was handled by you know who. It’s not inappropriate to ask why she’s coming here instead of there, is it?

As long as you don’t bad-mouth them if she gives a negative review of their work. See you all later.

Probably shouldn’t ask then. Frank’s gaze shifted back down to the paper as Dave walked out into the foyer.

Who’s your meeting with? Donnie wondered if maybe this had something to do with the sack of bones in his closet. Is someone really going to buy those bones?

Mimi Markham. Her dad died yesterday—Mitch Markham, I think. Those whores over at Life Memorial took care of his wife and I’d really like to know if they screwed something up.

I don’t know why you dislike those guys so much, Donnie said.

Frank finished drinking the blue milk in his bowl and walked over to the sink. Because they’re a couple of poon slingers.

I don’t know what that means. Donnie sighed and sipped his coffee. You need me to do anything before I take Mom?

Nah, I got it. Do you recognize that name? Markham?

Nope.

She looks our age and her Facebook says she grew up here.

Cliff brought Donnie over a plate of eggs with hash browns and sausage links, and set down a protein shake.

Thanks. Donnie ate and skimmed through the Sports section. Frank went to refill his coffee and walked toward the foyer with the Living section tucked under his arm. Hey! Donnie yelled.

Yo!

What are you doin’?

Goin’ to poop.

Frank! What are you doing with that bag in my closet!

Oh, sorry. Can it wait until after my nine-thirty? Or actually—Cliff, can you run Donnie through what we’re doing with Sarah?

I can’t. I’ve got a nine-thirty.

Frank promised his brother they would chat once the Markham girl was gone. He left and the bathroom door closed at the other end of the house. Donnie could faintly hear his brother singing, I’ve got the magic in me.

He turned to Cliff who was putting the remaining dishes into the dishwasher. Cliff looked down at his shirt and flexed his arms together, jolting his pecs up and down. Up against the wall was a large curio cabinet which housed several nice sets of china and offered a reflection in the glass. Cliff gave a quick front flexed pose, then shifted to check his side as he lengthened his arm to see his triceps. When his phone dinged, Cliff checked the notification and moved toward the back door, grabbing his gym bag off the chair, and fist bumping Donnie on the way out.

Donnie shook his head as the door closed and let out a sigh. Ridiculous.

3

A blue ’99 Honda Accord sped past Sergeant Monty Suthers’ cruiser. Monty sat in plain view on the side of Highway 121 to eat his breakfast and act as a warning for drivers who used the rural highway as a faster means of getting through town. It was a convenient time to enjoy his coffee and keep drivers safe. Blue Accord, however, wasn’t paying attention and missed the warning.

Monty cursed and pulled out from under the tree’s shade. He followed close behind him at nearly fifteen over the limit hoping to avoid having to issue a ticket. Other officers joked that Monty was more upset at giving tickets than the offender was at receiving them. He tried to will Blue Accord to notice him and slow down. Monty could avoid having to talk, and Blue could avoid a ticket. Monty finally flashed his lights. He could see the driver eye him through the rearview mirror and jerk his head forward.

Don’t yell at me. I’ve been behind you for two miles.

Monty could already feel himself starting to sweat from the morning humidity when he opened the door. He put on his sunglasses and hat and walked toward the car. Blue had his window down by the time Monty approached and was texting on his phone. P-P-Please put your phone down, sir, and p-p-pass me your license and r-registration.

Was I speeding? Blue asked, tossing his phone onto the passenger seat.

You don’t know why I p-p-pulled you over? Monty replied.

I was goin’ pretty fast, huh?

Then why did you ask me, jackass? I f-foll-followed you for more than two miles at nearly fifteen over. That’s reckless driving. Wh-w-where are you going?

Blue handed over his license and began rifling through the glove box. I’m sorry sir, I’m running late for a gym appointment. He passed over a sheet of paper.

This is insurance. Should be a w-w-white paper, about this big, he said, sizing it with his fingers. You-You’re going to a gym?

Yes, sir. I’ve been trying to get an appointment with this guy for a couple of weeks, but he’s booked all the time. I got out the door late and just wasn’t thinking while I was driving.

Monty studied the license. You up at Murray State?

I am.

W-What are you studying?

Theatre. The guy who runs this gym said he could help me get in shape for a role. I got six weeks.

Monty handed the license back. This wouldn’t be the guy who r-r-runs a gym out of a funeral home, would it?

I think so, yeah. Cliff Samson. Over on Poplar Street.

That’s him, Monty said. He eyed the boy for a second and then, Look, I’m gonna let you go with some tips. F-F-First off, never tell a police officer that you weren’t thinking while you were driving. Second, ch-check your mirrors while you drive. Had you just slowed down, I wouldn’t have p-pulled you over.

Yes, sir.

"Very good. Now, I’m g-going to do you a favor. I’ll f-follow you over to this gym and let this guy know that you were pulled over. That way he doesn’t j-j-jip you out of a session because you were late. That sound okay?"

Really? Thank you.

No problem. Pay attention next time?

I will, sir.

See you there.

Monty had finished his breakfast by the time they arrived at Cliff’s Edge gym. He sat waiting in his cruiser while Blue went to check in. The building wasn’t fully visible from the road. Monty had driven down Poplar numerous times but had never stopped to look at the actual facility, hidden from view by the Burgers Funeral Home.

The owner kept the original garage design but there had been some signs of expansion to the back and sides. Two garage doors were opened allowing Monty to see the inside where a few people were using the available equipment. Wooden logs of varying sizes were stacked against the outside wall. Blue was talking to a large, muscular Filipino man who looked like he was the inspiration for the demi-god Maui. He was standing with his arms out over a bench, speaking loudly to a young woman bench pressing a log. When the set finished, Blue pointed out to Monty’s cruiser. They both waved.

Monty gulped the remainder of his coffee and got out of the cruiser. He walked past the kitchen window of the Burgers home just as Donnie glanced up from washing the protein residue out of his glass.

4

Mom, we gotta go! Donnie was standing at the kitchen sink when he looked up and through the window to see a cop walking up the driveway. Oh shit. Oh, shit.

The cop walked toward Cliff’s gym. Shit. Someone saw Frank. Or he left something behind. Cliff noticed the cop and made his way over to shake his hand.

Ginny Burgers strolled into the kitchen and asked if Donnie was ready to go, but he didn’t answer her. What are you staring at?

Nothing, he lied. Watching Cliff.

Are you ready? his mom asked again.

Yeah. Let me get my wallet.

Donnie peeked his head into Frank’s office to see if the Markham girl had arrived. He saw Frank alone, sitting in his desk chair and typing on his phone. He rapped his fingers on the door to get his brother’s attention. Hey, there’s a cop outside ta— Suddenly a young, redheaded woman stepped into view from behind the door holding a phone to her ear.

Hang on, hang on, she said, lowering the phone and putting her hand to the speaker. The police are here? She turned to Frank, Should I go?

Sorry, Donnie whispered. No, no. He’s a friend of ours. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.

It’s okay, she replied, lifting the phone back to her ear. Donnie looked toward Frank who was smiling and mouthing Hot!

Come here! Donnie whispered.

For what?

There’s.A.Cop.Outside.

What?

Donnie clutched his fists and started to mouth come here but was cut off again by the woman behind the door.

Okay, I will. You too. Bye-bye. She reappeared and looked from Donnie over to Frank. I’m sorry I had to take that. We have family coming in and it’s . . . ugh. Too much right now. And sorry I startled you.

No problem, Donnie replied. You mind if I speak with my brother for a moment out here? In private.

Not at all, please.

Frank apologized to her and closed the door behind him. What’s up?

There’s a cop outside.

I know, you said that. So what?

"Frank! You put a dug up corpse in my closet, what do you mean so what? What do you want me to do?"

What does he want?

I don’t know.

He’s just standing outside? Frank asked.

No, he went into Cliff’s.

Maybe he’s working out, Frank said.

Donnie heard Ginny walk into the foyer and stress that they were going to be late.

Look, Frank said, opening his office door, you have to go. Get in your car and if he stops you, say you have to take your mom to her vagina doctor.

Franklin! Ginny yelled.

Sorry. Her vagina specialist. I promise, he’s here checking out the gym.

Donnie, frustrated, was at a loss. What if he wants to search around the house?

Go! Frank said. We’ll talk when you get back.

Donnie sighed. He went to open the front door but when he released the knob the whole thing fell off and clanked onto the ground. Donnie turned to his brother, who was staring at the pieces on the floor. You haven’t fixed this yet?

I thought I did. I’ll set it back in place and get to it later this afternoon. Go.

Donnie looked at this mom in frustration: This thing’s been broken since I got back.

Why is that policeman here? Ginny asked.

Apparently, he’s checking out Cliff’s gym.

Should we go say hi?

No, we’re already running late.

Donnie turned on the ignition and pumped the AC to full blast. Paranoia was setting in: Don’t move too fast! Don’t be awkward. Make eye contact. Wave.

As he backed out of the driveway, he couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. Ginny attempted to make conversation, but Donnie couldn’t muster more than one or two-word answers. He drove the entire way thinking through logical excuses to explain a trash bag full of bones in his closet that was hidden underneath two pair of slacks.

5

A woman with a lightweight leather jacket and strawberry blond hair had stepped into Frank’s office. Her smell was entrancing: honeysuckle and bubblegum—and burnt . . . asphalt? Frank noticed the helmet tucked under her arm as the woman smiled and extended her hand. I’m Mimi.

Hey, Mimi. Frank. Nice to put a face to a name. He shook her hand. I’m sorry about your father. You can set your stuff down anywhere you like and have a seat in one of the chairs. She crossed the room and he noticed the helmet held against her side.

Motorcycle, he said.

Yup, Mimi replied. You ride?

No. I wish. Frank took a seat opposite her at his desk. He had already done enough preliminary research to know who her father was, but he asked her to describe him and their relationship. She was only a few sentences in before her cell phone rang. She ignored it and continued talking. It rang again. She sighed, and excused herself just moments before Donnie peeked his head in.

Donnie’s overreacting. No one could have seen us, and I know I checked the area before we left. What could we have left behind?

Sorry about that, he said to the woman as he stepped back into the office. They continued to speak about her father and the burial arrangements. Frank listened and occasionally jotted down notes on his yellow pad. Can I ask you a personal question? You don’t have to answer it but, why us? Your mom was taken care of by the Koch brothers at Life Memorial. Normally, people keep the same arrangements unless . . . Frank stopped and looked at her to finish the sentence.

I wasn’t in charge of that one. That was my brother, Peter.

Oh. Frank flipped back a couple of pages on his legal pad. Did I read right that you have two brothers? Frank asked.

I did. The oldest one passed away years ago.

Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.

"We aren’t sure exactly what happened. He ran away in high school. As far as we know he could still be alive, but I’m not holding my breath. My parents talked like he was still out there but, I kind of think—inside—they gave up hope a long time ago. She sat quiet for a moment, staring at the surface of Frank’s desk. Sorry. Anyway, my other brother made the arrangements with the other home and he wanted to go back to them again, but they were a disaster."

What happened?

Mimi paused. She didn’t look like Mom. The makeup job was shit. It’s funny you mention them. Someone from over there called me yesterday afternoon after I got off the phone with you.

Really?

Yeah. Said they had heard about my father’s passing and wanted to know if they could help with the arrangements. I lied and said that you and I were friends so I would have you all take care of my father. Should have just said they did a shit job. Sorry, again. Shouldn’t say that.

No apology needed. I know their artist—Antoine. It’s not normal for me to bad-mouth our competition. Having said that, Antoine has about as much artistic talent as a flaccid penis with a paintbrush tied to it.

A laugh snorted out of her mouth and nose before she could lift her hand to cover it.

Frank smiled. Probably shouldn’t say that.

"Leaving this morning, of all the things racing through my mind, I did not ever imagine the words flaccid penis to be a part of our conversation. I needed that," Mimi replied.

Frank reassured her of their artist, without saying it was himself or Donnie—in case they botched the job. Botched jobs would be blamed on Dusty, an imaginary intern who would immediately be fired. Now, you said you wanted the funeral . . . tomorrow? Is that right?

Yes. Is that still okay? I know it’s last minute.

It won’t give family much time to get here.